


Hangover Cure

by FreeGratis



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Drinking, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 14:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeGratis/pseuds/FreeGratis
Summary: In which Peter initiates a friends-with-benefits situation and Tony catches a case of feelings.





	Hangover Cure

**Author's Note:**

> After years as an avid fic reader, this is my very first completed work! It was originally supposed to be a few hundred words of established relationship built around [this joke](https://www.sunnyskyz.com/funny-jokes/86/Jack-Wakes-Up-With-A-Huge-Hangover-And-A-Happy-Wife), but evolved into this as I wrote it.
> 
> Only about five people in the world will care about this, but in my mind Jeremy is the same hapless intern invented in the We Hate Movies podcast episode about Brainscan.
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely wife and beta reader Scioscribe for encouraging me along the way and giving me such helpful feedback! I love you. <3

Tony Stark can’t quite believe what his life has become. If you’d told him five years ago that he would now be regularly hooking up with Peter Parker – Spider-Man, newly initiated Avenger, not-quite-old-enough-to-drink Peter Parker – he would have asked for the reality stone back, thank you very much.

He’s still surprised that it started at all. They’re in the lab one Tuesday, working on updates to the latest iteration of the Iron Spider suit, when Peter abruptly puts down his webshooter and starts fidgeting. “What’s going on, kid? Spit it out,” Tony says impatiently, eager to get back to work.

“Mr. Stark? You’ve had a lot of, like, casual sex, right?” Peter asks, staring intently at a point just over Tony’s shoulder as the tips of his ears turn bright red.

Tony’s brain short circuits. What the fuck? “…What?” he manages to get out, his wrench clanging to the ground and sending Dum-E scuttling over, fire extinguisher at the ready. Tony waves him off without a glance, unable to tear his eyes away from Peter, whose face is rapidly increasing in resemblance to a tomato.

Peter sighs, looking even more embarrassed. “I just…I mean…you’re like…experienced. At the whole no strings attached hookup thing. And you’re good at…sex.”

“You’ve seen the tabloids, kid. Do you really need me to confirm it for you?” Tony asks, trying to keep his voice neutral, as if the topic barely holds his interest. He has an idea of where this is heading. He’s seen the glances, Peter’s gaze holding on him a little too long when he thinks Tony’s not looking.

Part of him hopes he’s wrong. He could list off a dozen reasons why sleeping with Peter would be a terrible idea. Peter was fifteen when they met, even if he’s now twenty and a college student with a few relationships under his belt. He’s now an official Stark Industries intern; Bruce is his supervisor rather than Tony, but it’s still Tony’s company. They’re Avengers teammates, and that’s not a group that needs any more interpersonal drama thrown into the mix. Not to mention that pesky thirty-year age gap.

But. But. But. Despite all of that, a far-too-vocal part of Tony is greedily hoping his hunch about Peter’s intention is correct. However wrong it might be, he can’t help noticing how attractive Peter’s gotten. His face has lost that under-baked babyish look he had for the first few years of their acquaintance, but he still has a fresh-faced innocence that God help him, Tony finds ridiculously appealing. It’s matched by sharp wit, occasionally stunning flashes of brilliance, and of course, those abs, and that ass…

Peter gulps audibly, then plunges on. “Look, Mr. Stark, I…I don’t really have time to date right now with the whole Spider-Man thing _and _classes _and_ the internship, and the senses-dialed-to-eleven thing can make it…awkward to find a, you know, friend with benefits type of situation. I could use some, um, practice. On my…technique. So I was thinking, you’re single, and I’m single, so maybe we could, you know…help each other out? Nothing else would have to change.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, desperately trying to silence the part of his body that is screaming out for him to jump Peter’s bones immediately. The kid is all but presenting himself on a silver platter, after all. He doesn’t want to date Tony – and why on earth would he? He just wants a few no-strings-attached rolls in the hay until he has time to find some nice age-appropriate fellow college student who doesn’t mind him missing the occasional date to stop a bank robbery.

Tony means to say he’s flattered, but no thanks. He really, really does. And yet somehow, seeing the anxious hopefulness on Peter’s face, he can’t force his mouth to form the words. “Are you serious right now, Pete? Do you really want this? Just two people enjoying each other’s bodies until something serious comes along? And do you really want that with me? I know I’m devastatingly handsome and all, but I’m getting a little long in the tooth.”

Peter looks slightly stunned, clearly not expecting so little pushback. “Yes! I’m totally serious, Mr. Stark. And you’re totally still hot to me. You were, like, 75% responsible for me realizing I liked guys in middle school.”

Tony groans. “I really didn’t need to know that. But thanks? Anyway, if we’re going to do this, we need a few ground rules.”

“Okay?” Peter says tentatively, looking like he can hardly believe his good luck that this conversation is happening at all.

“Number one,” Tony holds up a finger. “You want out at any time, you say so. Whether it’s because you met someone else or because you’re done scratching your childhood crush itch, doesn’t matter.”

“That’s fine,” Peter says, “as long as you promise to do the same.”

Tony ignores that. He hasn’t dated since Pepper left for the last time, and he doesn’t plan to start again any time soon. The world isn’t going to save itself, after all. “Number two,” he adds a second finger, “you’re free to do whatever you want with whoever else you want, barring another conversation.”

Peter scoffs at that. “Didn’t you listen to me before? The whole reason I suggested this is that I’m _not_ doing things with anyone else.”

“Good to know I’m your backup booty call, Parker. Really makes a guy feel special,” Tony says sarcastically, enjoying the wide-eyed look of concern that crosses Peter’s face.

“Oh no, Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean it like th-“ Peter stammers.

“_Number three_,” Tony loudly interrupts, “we use protection at all times, both with each other and with any other partners that may happen along. And finally, if we’re going to do this, number four is that you have got to start calling me Tony. Are you okay with all of these conditions? Got anything to add?”

Peter gives him a mischievous smile. “That’s all fine with me except for number four, _Mr. Stark_,” he says, and then suddenly his lips are on Tony’s, Tony’s hands are clenched in Peter’s hair, and they’re both shedding clothes as fast as they can. It’s a good thing he keeps condoms and lube in the lab, because they’re not making it out of here anytime soon.

Afterward, lying on the floor on their backs panting, he steals a sideways glance at Peter. How has he never before noticed just how beautiful Peter is? His smooth alabaster skin is flushed in all the right places, his hair is attractively mussed, and _holy shit_, that body. Forget being a terrible idea, this has been one of Peter’s most brilliant suggestions ever.

\---

What Tony has been thinking of as their Mutually Beneficial Arrangement has been going on for several months. He’s surprised by how little it has affected his and Peter’s working relationship after all. They still have their lab time together, trading ideas and banter as easily as before, only now it’s followed by increasingly mind-blowingly hot sex instead of a casual goodbye. They don’t go out on dates, nor does Peter spend the night. It’s as nice and uncomplicated and satisfactory as Peter promised. It’s all going smoothly, far better than Tony feels he deserves, until one night in April.

Tony deeply regrets every decision he’s ever made that has led to this moment. He is currently being bored out of his skull at an Oscorp party that Pepper bullied him into attending. He almost wishes Peter were here with him; then he’d at least have someone interesting to talk to. But that goes beyond the call of duty of their Mutually Beneficial Arrangement, and therefore he had resisted the urge to invite Peter along. The only saving grace is the excellent open bar, from which he is accepting drink after drink to get him through the evening until he’s put in his mandatory two hours and can slip out to go meet Peter. He feels an itching underneath his skin when he thinks about Peter; they haven’t seen each other all week, the longest gap since they started their friends with benefits situation.

Peter said he was too busy with classes and patrol, but Tony has alerts set up on all of Peter’s social media and he can’t help but notice Peter’s spending an awful lot of time “studying” around town with some guy named Jeremy. He’s taken an instant and very logical dislike to Jeremy. Tony’s intensive background check has revealed Jeremy to be, as he claims, a history major from Pittsburgh who is apparently _not _a serial killer or attempting to exploit Peter’s SI connections, but there’s something about him that Tony finds off-putting. It could be his stupid hipster haircut that annoyingly looks really good on him, or maybe how ostentatiously he drapes his arm around Peter’s shoulders in one of their Instagram photos, their bodies pressed against each other as they squish into the same side of a diner booth. Whatever it is, Tony doesn’t approve, and therefore Jeremy must have some skeletons in his closet and by God, Tony will find them.

Tony grinds his teeth and takes another gulp of scotch as he reminds himself of ground rule number two, that they’re both free to see other people whenever they want. He has no right to be upset, even if Peter _is _seeing Jeremy, and there’s no guarantee that he is. Peter also agreed to the first rule, that he’d tell Tony if their little arrangement isn’t working out for him anymore. The more times Jeremy pops up on Peter’s feed, though, the sooner Tony anticipates that conversation happening. He downs the rest of his drink in one swallow and signals the bartender for another, telling himself that it’s only the fear of another dry spell full of pent-up horniness that has him so agitated. He swallows the next drink in one go too, and indicates for a double on the refill. Fuck it.

\---

The next thing he knows, Tony is groaning as the sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window attacks his eyes with stabbing pain. He quickly closes them and clutches his forehead in a vain attempt to stop the pounding headache centered there as a wave of nausea hits. His mouth tastes like stale liquor and old vomit. He doesn’t have a clue how he made it out of Oscorp, let alone back to his penthouse and into his own bed. His last memory is of thinking about Jeremy and Peter. Fuck. Peter. He was supposed to meet Peter last night.

He doesn’t jump out of bed so much as flop over onto his side, moaning as the pounding in his head intensifies. Peter must be so irritated with him for blowing him off last night. Or maybe not. Maybe Jeremy consoled him in his strong arms, clothed in that stupid lumberjack shirt. How many lumberjacks are there in New York City anyway? Stupid fucking hipsters, he thinks angrily, reaching blindly for his phone on the nightstand.

Instead of his phone, his fingers brush against cool glass. He cracks an eye open and sees, to his astonishment, a glass of ice water, the outside glistening with condensation. Sitting on a slip of paper next to the glass are a couple of aspirin pills. He pops the aspirins into his mouth and chugs down as much of the water as he can in one go, then picks up the note. It’s torn from a Stark Industries notepad, and he recognizes Peter’s scrawl.

_I ran out for groceries, back in a few. Take your aspirin and drink your water please. Breakfast when I get back!_

_Peter_

Tony stares at the note for a good sixty seconds before the words filter into his hung over brain. Groceries? Breakfast? Did Peter stay over? He looks back at the bed and notices the slight indentation on the pillow next to his, so Peter definitely slept there. He’s never done that before. Why would he bother last night of all nights, when Tony had missed their hookup and probably would have been too drunk to even get it up if he’d been there?

He guzzles the rest of the water, just for something to do. Peter asked him to so nicely, after all. As he sets the glass back down, he hears noise start to trickle in from the kitchen. Peter must be back with his groceries. Maybe he’s planning to poison Tony in revenge.

Deciding it’s time to face the music, Tony finally hauls himself all the way out of bed. Looking down, he realizes he slept only in his underwear. He digs a pair of sweatpants and an old Avengers t-shirt out of a drawer, then takes a deep breath and heads toward the kitchen, bracing himself for whatever anger Peter might throw at him.

Tony’s confusion grows when Peter kisses him on the cheek as Tony shuffles into the kitchen. “Hey, kid, what are you still doing here?” he croaks, wincing at how scratchy and raw his voice sounds.

“Hey yourself!” Peter says, chipper as usual. How the hell the kid can be so cheerful after…whatever happened or didn’t happen last night, Tony hasn’t a clue. “I’m making breakfast. Obviously. How do you like your eggs?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that Tony really shouldn’t find as endearing as he does.

Tony gags at the thought of food, his stomach roiling. For a moment, he’s too nauseated to muse on the weirdness of Peter’s manner.

“Come on, Mr. St- Tony. You’ve always told me that a big greasy breakfast is the quickest cure for a hangover,” Peter wheedles, setting a cup of steaming coffee down in front of Tony.

The use of Tony’s first name distracts him from his hangover misery. Even though they’ve been sleeping together for almost two months now, he can’t get the kid - Peter, he reminds himself, calling him “kid” does nothing for Tony’s guilt over the situation – _Peter_ to make the switch from Mr. Stark. It works well enough for him in bed, but for the times in between, in the lab or over takeout as they discuss their projects, Tony craves the intimacy of his first name. Maybe that’s exactly the problem, he wonders, not for the first time. This thing between them is a bit of fun for Peter, but maybe he wants the emotional distance that “Mr. Stark” provides. So what’s changed since last night?

Tony realizes that Peter is looking at him expectantly, apparently still waiting for his egg preference. “Over easy,” he mutters. “No, better make it over hard, the thought of runny yolks is not doing my stomach any favors.”

Peter nods and looks down at the stove, carefully placing half a dozen strips of bacon in a hot skillet before turning to the fridge for the eggs.

Tony sips at his coffee just to have something to do before he has to start talking. It’s black and strong, prepared just the way he likes it. It gives him a slight pang that Peter knows that. Best not to analyze that feeling too closely.

He knows he owes Peter an apology, but he’s not exactly sure what for, thanks to his foggy memory of last night. He waits until Peter turns back toward him, cracking the eggs into another skillet one-handed like he’s on the Food Network. Tony opens his mouth to speak, but finds himself mesmerized by Peter’s hands, watching as he deftly sprinkles salt and twists the pepper grinder a few times over the eggs. His fingers are long and thin, delicate but strong. They look just as good turning a pepper grinder as they do wrapped around Tony’s cock, which itself is quite a sight to behold.

Tony shakes himself from his reverie and plunges ahead. “Listen, Pete. I’m sorry about last night. I know I was late, and I’m sure I wasn’t up for much when I got here. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Thanks for staying and for…all of this. You didn’t have to,” he says, ending with more earnestness in his tone than he intended as he gestures at the sizzling pans on the stove.

Peter gives him a gentle smile, one Tony hasn’t seen before. He’s cataloged most of Peter’s facial expressions. They’re usually easy to read; Peter wears his heart on his face, unafraid to show his emotions to the world. But this smile is different: it’s softer, somehow, tentative and hopeful at the same time. Tony wonders what it means.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Peter says softly. “Really, it is. I don’t mind at all especially after last night,” he adds, seeing Tony open his mouth to protest. That piques Tony’s curiosity; from what he can remember, nothing about last night should have brought out this reaction in Peter.

Before he can ask, though, Peter is plating the bacon and eggs. A moment later the toaster pops up and he briskly crosses the kitchen to retrieve the toast, rapidly buttering it and setting a mouthwatering plate at each place setting on the counter. He walks around the counter and settles in the chair next to Tony, offering him another one of those mysterious smiles.

Silence descends as they both dig in. Tony’s sure he must have had better meals in his life - he is a billionaire, after all, a regular at some of the finest restaurants in New York - but he can’t recall taking such pure and simple pleasure from food before. This rivals that first cheeseburger he had after Afghanistan, the bacon just the right level of crispiness, the eggs flavorful and perfectly cooked, the toast warm and buttery. There’s something so satisfying about eating this simple food that Peter cooked just for him.

He knows he should ask about what happened last night, why Peter is being so damn _nice_ to him after he came home drunk, but there’s such a feeling of peace and contentment that he can’t bring himself to raise the issue. Instead he applies himself to his plate. His hum of satisfaction causes Peter to pause inhaling his own food and glance at Tony out of the corner of his eye.

“Aren’t you glad I stayed now?” Peter asks smugly, his face almost feline in its self-congratulation.

“Yes, yes, you’re a man of many talents. I’ve always known that, even before all of this,” Tony waves his fork vaguely between the two of them.

Peter smirks and then shovels his last piece of bacon into his mouth whole. He gets up and brings over the coffee pot to pour Tony a refill, then kisses Tony on the cheek again and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair.

“Are you leaving already?” Tony tries to keep his voice casual, as if it doesn’t matter to him one way or the other. His heart isn’t sinking at the thought of Peter walking out the door. Definitely not.

“I have history class in…” Peter checks his watch, “forty minutes. If I don’t leave now I’ll definitely miss it. Unless…you want me to skip it?” His expression looks almost hopeful at that. Tony tells himself that of course any student is going to jump at the flimsiest excuse to cut class. It has nothing to do with him specifically.

“No, as your mentor and role model I couldn’t possibly condone such behavior,” Tony says haughtily, holding back the _please stay_ that was his first reaction.

Peter laughs at that and Tony can’t help but join in, because what the hell kind of role model is he, especially after last night?

He hands Peter his backpack and walks him to the elevator, his arm slung around Peter’s shoulder like old times. “Have a good day at the office, honey,” he jokes, and is surprised when Peter blushes and looks down at his feet instead of laughing at his silly line.

“I’ll come back tonight. So we can, you know, finish our conversation from last night,” Peter says softly, meeting Tony’s gaze and leaning in for a kiss. His lips press softly against Tony’s, the gentlest and most romantic kiss they’ve shared yet.

Tony can only stand there, stunned, as Peter gets into the elevator, smiling as the doors slide shut between them. He’s never been more confused in his life. If it weren’t for his unfortunate awareness of the ongoing throbbing in his head, he’d wonder if he was still asleep.

It’s time to find out the explanation for Peter’s unusual behavior. “What the hell happened with Peter last night, J?” Tony mumbles, rubbing a hand over his still-aching head.

“Mr. Parker arrived promptly at 11:00PM, as previously arranged. He waited for you in the living room and fell asleep at 12:37AM, sir,” Jarvis says primly.

Tony doesn’t know how his own AI manages to sound so disapproving toward his creator, and he deeply resents it. However, unraveling the mystery of Peter’s good cheer is more important than whether or not his AI butler is judging him. “What time did I get home? What happened then?” he prods.

“You returned at 1:14AM and vomited in the entryway right outside the elevator. The noise woke Mr. Parker, and he sat you down on the sofa and cleaned the floor, sir,” Jarvis says, and Tony is _certain_ that he detects a slight edge to the way Jarvis said _sir._

Tony groans in horror. As if he already doesn’t have enough marks against him in the “not fit to be Peter’s boyfriend” column – too old, too famous, too many one-night stands and sleazy tabloid headlines – now he has to add “stands up mentee slash friend with benefits to get drunk with people he hates and then pukes in front of said mentee slash friend with benefits, who he’d really like to date but isn’t good enough for.” Okay, that might not fit in a column, but still. Not good.

He can picture the scene all too well: Peter, patiently waiting for him, gradually falling asleep on the couch, his curls pulling loose from the hair gel that had been holding them in check all day. The ding of the elevator setting off Peter’s hyperaware senses, then Tony stumbling out of the elevator, plastered on expensive whiskey. Was he singing? He has a feeling he might have been, given the scratchiness in his throat, but he can’t bring himself to ask Jarvis to pull up the security feed from the elevator. He doesn’t want to see the remnants of the whiskey and bad gala canapés splatter over his parquet floor, and even less does he want to see Peter, sweet, patient, kind, _beautiful_ Peter watch it happen.

How very like Peter to clean up the mess himself, even though he knows Tony has bots on hand 24 hours a day to take care of problems like this. Tony can hardly bear to think about how he must have fallen in Peter’s esteem; sure, Peter knows Tony’s reputation, but knowing it intellectually and seeing it in action are two completely different animals. He bets Jeremy has never gotten blackout drunk when he was supposed to be spending time with Peter, then puked everywhere and forced Peter to take care of him.

Peter must have taken pity on him. It’s the only explanation for why he would have bothered taking care of Tony, staying to make sure he didn’t choke himself being sick and making him breakfast in the morning. What a pathetic figure Tony must have presented to make Peter feel so sorry for him. He feels that old familiar self-hatred rushing in, its voice suspiciously like Howard’s, telling him he’ll never be good enough, why even try.

As much as he doesn’t want to, he owes it to Peter to see the full extent of what Tony put him through the night before. He presses the heels of his hands to his forehead for moment to steel himself, then tells Jarvis to play the security footage, starting from right after Peter finished cleaning.

\---

The footage starts rolling. Tony is lying sprawled on the couch, snoring softly. Peter comes back into the frame from the direction of the kitchen and rolls his eyes at the sight. “Come on, Mr. Stark,” he says patiently. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Tony moans as he wakes, but seems barely aware of his surroundings. Peter bends over scoops Tony up in his arms like he weighs nothing, and starts carrying him toward the bedroom. He gently sets Tony down on the bed, reaching down to tug off his shoes and socks.

He successfully removes Tony’s jacket and bowtie, but when he goes for his belt, Tony smacks his hand away. “Don’ wanna, sorry,” he slurs.

“I’m just getting you ready to go to sleep! You’re way too drunk to consent to anything right now anyway, Mr. Stark,” Peter says earnestly, trying again to remove Tony’s belt.

“No!” Tony says. “I have a boyfriend. Person. A not-boyfriend-person.”

“A not-boyfriend-person, huh? He must be pretty special.” Peter sounds amused.

Tony fixes a bleary-eyed stare somewhere to the left of Peter’s shoulder. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he sighs.

Peter had been going for Tony’s belt again, but freezes at this; he seems temporarily lost for words, a first in all the time that Tony’s known him. His whole body has gone completely still, not a muscle twitching. “You’re drunk, you don’t mean that,” he whispers.

“I’m not that drunk,” Tony announces. “I’ve operated heavy machinery while _way _drunker than this, I’m _fine_,” he continues, frowning as he reaches to unbutton his shirt and pokes himself in the nose instead.

“Well, that’s worrisome,” Peter says. “But going back to this beautiful not-boyfriend-person of yours…”

“Peter. I think I’m in love with him. I’m definitely in love with him. Which is why I’m not going to sleep with _you,”_ – he jabs a finger toward Peter’s chest, missing it by a good foot – “so don’t bother trying.” He finishes with a sanctimonious little wag of his finger and promptly rolls over, snoring once again.

Peter is looking down at him with such tenderness that Tony can feel it burning through the camera. He finishes undressing the sleeping Tony in the video, then tucks him in and curls up next to him under the covers. He cups Tony’s face in his hands, whispers, “I’m in love with you too, Mr. Stark,” kisses him softly on the lips, and turns out the light.

\--- 

As Jarvis turns off the footage from the previous night, Tony realizes that his jaw has literally dropped at some point in the last few minutes and his mouth is hanging wide open. He feels as though a light breeze could knock him over and send him skittering across the floor like a tumbleweed. It wasn’t just pity or his own inherent goodness that made Peter stay that night; he stayed because Tony asked him to and because he _wanted _to. Because he loves Tony back. In spite of Tony’s age, his track record, his…overwhelming Tonyness, Peter loves him.

And he just let Peter walk out the door to class. Tony feels an overwhelming urge to call the suit and fly up to Columbia immediately, but he has to be smart about this. This is his chance to tell Peter how he feels when he’s in control of his actions, like Peter did last night. “Jarvis, what’s Peter’s schedule for the rest of the day?" he asks.

“He has his American history lecture until 1:00, then organic chemistry lab from 2:00 to 5:00,” Jarvis replies. Tony is just wondering if he should try to steal Peter away for lunch when Jarvis interrupts his train of thought. “If I may make a suggestion, sir, dinner is a traditional first date. Mr. Parker may be more pleased with it than with a quick luncheon in between classes. That would also give you more time to make arrangements.”

Jarvis is right, as usual, Tony realizes. He doesn’t think he could stand to let Peter go after lunch, and Peter would never want to skip chem lab. It’s just as well; he has plans to make and things to get done before 5:00. He gets to work.

\---

Tony can tell the exact moment that Peter sees him when Peter emerges from the chemistry building a few minutes after 5:00. Peter’s walking along with his phone in his hand, glancing up every few seconds to keep from bumping into anyone. Suddenly he comes to a dead stop and stares, mouth slightly open.

Tony is standing in front of one of the Ferraris. He doesn’t consider it one of his flashier cars, but he supposes the cherry red color is a little more eye-catching than he had intended. In retrospect, the enormous bouquet of flowers he’s holding might be a little over the top as well. Whether it’s the flowers, the car, or the fact that Iron Man himself is standing outside Havemeyer Hall, he’s certainly attracting a lot of attention from passersby.

Peter has gotten over his initial shock and is hurrying over. “Tony, what are you doing here? I thought I was coming to your place later,” he hisses, looking around at their audience, his face a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment.

Tony takes a deep breath before he starts talking. “Well, as you may have guessed from my incoherent confusion this morning, I didn’t exactly remember what happened last night after I got home.” Peter’s brow furrows at this, but he doesn’t interrupt. “Jarvis helped fill in the gaps for me. Pete…I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I’m even sorrier that it took getting that drunk for me to be able to tell you how I feel. And you deserve better than that. You deserve a lot better than me, actually, but I’m a selfish asshole and I want you anyway. Wow, this is not the speech I had planned. See, I’m already screwing up. But if you meant what you said last night and you really, truly want this, then can I please take you to dinner tonight?”

He’s surprised by how anxious he is, waiting for Peter’s answer. Even though he knows intellectually that Peter is in love with him too, he feels…vulnerable. Peter seems to have been struck dumb. He swallows a few times, and Tony swears his heart is skipping beats. Finally he can’t stand it anymore. “Peter?” he prompts.

Peter closes his eyes for a moment. “Just a second. I need to memorize this feeling. This is, like, the closest thing to a Love Actually moment I’ll ever have. You’re like Julia Roberts in that really old movie _Notting Hill_.”

“Okay, we need to have a serious conversation about your definition of old, kid,” Tony can’t help interjecting.

“Can we do it on the way to dinner? I’m starving,” Peter says matter-of-factly.

“Is that a yes, then?” Tony asks, blood pounding in his ears.

“Lucky for you, I’m smarter than Hugh Grant. Yes, I want you, yes, I want this, and yes, I want to have dinner with you. Right now. Because as I said, I’m starving.” Peter grabs the flowers and presses a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek before reaching for the passenger door. Tony darts around him and opens it for him, a feeling of delighted disbelief filling his heart.

\---

They go to dinner and back to the penthouse afterwards, where Peter oohs and ahhs over the bucket of champagne and rose petals waiting for them on the bed. This time, Tony isn’t surprised when Peter’s still there in the morning.


End file.
